Sympathy
by D Gelyn
Summary: In his cell each day, Reno receives two visits. One is from Kadaj, who brings pain and punishment. The other is from Yazoo. Could he bring Reno hope?


**Author: **D. Gelyn

**Rating: **T

**Characters: **RenoXYazoo

**Warnings:** Mild yaoi. Blood, I guess if you're really squeamish. Fluffiness? AU: Reno was captured with Tseng and Elena

**Disclaimer: **Still do not own Final Fantasy VII, Advent Children, or any of the characters. I just like playing with them. Yep.

**Summary:** AU. Reno was captured with Tseng and Elena at the beginning of Advent Children. In his cell each day, Reno receives two visits. One is from Kadaj, who brings pain and punishment. The other is from Yazoo. Could he bring Reno hope?

**AN: **I love this pairing. Wow, and I think this is the only T- rated fic I have ever written! I am so proud ^_^ Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Sympathy<strong>

* * *

><p><em>I remember the day it began. Strange that I am able to recall such a simple alteration, since every day inside this lonesome cell blends together, hidden from the rest of the world and the very flow of time...<em>

* * *

><p>Stubbornly refusing to speak as always, he merely seated himself across from me, his back pressed against the cold metal wall. Even in the dim lighting I could see his cold blue-green eyes. Like blades, they sliced through the dark and watched with mild interest, as if I was nothing more than an experiment. I could see it in that gaze, the pitiless calculation: How long will it take a human to starve? How much silence before he goes mad? How many beatings until he breaks for good?<p>

I tossed my head - flicking tangled red hair out of my eyes - and stared determinedly back, meeting his gaze. Without the knotted crimson strands dangling in my eyes and obscuring my vision, I can see him clearly. That critical gaze never left my face, opposing my fierce glare with a calm one of his own. He was utterly composed as usual, not blinking once even when I revealed my face from behind the curtain of matted hair. I wished he had reacted in some way. I know I must have looked hideous - enough kicks to the face from Kadaj's leather booted foot will do that to you – and I could feel the irritating sensation of dried blood crusted on my cheeks.

But no, he never commented on my appearance, nor did he ever mention anything at all. I sometimes wondered why he came to my cell, for he never raised a hand against me like his brothers did. At first I thought maybe it was some sick sort of 'good-cop bad-cop' arrangement, sending Kadaj in to beat me within an inch of my life and then try to pry information from my weakened lips. But not once had Yazoo asked me for the whereabouts of his 'mother'. He just sat and observed my battered form.

I tried not to let myself relax around him, believing that it could all be a trick, and the moment I let my guard down was the moment he would strike. I tried not to, I really did, but I couldn't help myself. No one else would understand what it was like: to live each day balanced precariously between life and death. Each time I heard the sound of Kadaj's footsteps on the concrete floor outside my cell, I held my breath, savoring it just in case it was my last.

In those times of anxious uncertainty, I came to revere the barely audible noise Yazoo made as he glided with silent footsteps across the rough flooring, for I feared no imminent harm by his hands. I used to question why he came, but truthfully I could care less. I merely enjoyed being able to let go of my apprehension for the short time he was seated across the room.

So, like all the times before, I severed our tethered gazes and looked away. I leaned against the wall at my back, sighing heavily as my unkempt red hair returned to its previous position, hiding my features from view. My eyes slid shut of their own accord after only seconds, and I dozed comfortably, ignoring the eyes that still watched me from across the room. I was accustomed to the scorching gaze.

I did not dream; my thoughts slipped out of my reach completely as I nodded off against the cell wall, wishing I had the use of my arms so that I could protect myself from the frigid air.

I was awoken what felt like only minutes later, and in annoyance, I opened my blue eyes a crack, peering out through the slim sliver to see who had disturbed me. At the moment I was too tired to even care if it was Kadaj waiting for me with a clenched fist and a thousand questions I could not answer.

But no, standing above me was Yazoo. I was so surprised that he had ventured across the room – for he had never done so before- that it took me a while to realize his hand was outstretched in my direction, his long, gloved fingers encircling the neck of a canteen.

I was wary, of course. Kadaj had tried this trick multiple times, presenting me a bottle of what looked like water but was actually urine, blood, or a pain-inducing concoction of some sort. I looked up at Yazoo, attempting to gauge whether or not I could trust his tempting offer. He watched me, and seeming to sense my hesitation, he lifted the bottle to his own lips and let a stream of crystalline water trickle into his open and awaiting mouth.

Having seen proof that the liquid would not bring about my untimely demise, I eagerly sat up, my wrists tugging against the metal shackles that chained me against the wall. My urgency seemed to amuse Yazoo, for I noticed a soft smirk on his lips and a tell-tale glint of laughter in his demonic eyes as he bent over me.

Placing two slender fingers beneath my chin, Yazoo tilted my head back gently before bringing the smooth rim of the bottle to my mouth. He tipped the container slightly, allowing the cool liquid to flow between my parted lips and onto my impatient tongue. I swallowed quickly, straining upwards to collect more of the fresh water.

Yazoo emptied the entire bottle into my mouth, granting my parched throat relief. Finally, with the refreshing liquid flooding through my system, I found my voice.

"Yo…Thanks," I whispered hoarsely, and I was horrified by the sound of my own voice, like some savage growling beast.

Yazoo swept his silver hair out of his eyes with careful fingers and turned away without a word.

He made no promise to return, he presented no explanation for his actions, but he did not have to. I was merely thankful for that gesture of compassion, for it was the first I had seen in a long while.

Yazoo returned the next day, and every day for a week after that. He never came at the same hour each day; sometimes he would arrive before the first rays of light split through my cell to warn of the coming dawn, and other times he came so late at night it could have practically been morning. His visits were random and scattered, but each was a much needed liberation from the torture I received at Kadaj's hands. We fell into a sort of cycle; Yazoo would enter the cell and slide into his normal seat across the concrete floor from me. Eventually I would fall asleep under his watchful gaze, and he let me, never disturbing me from slumber until he left a few hours later. Before departing, however, he would cross the short distance between us and kneel at my side, procuring a bottle of water from within the folds of his leather and pressing it to my dry lips. I then drank until every drop of liquid had been emptied into my mouth, and I was mildly content.

On the odd occasion, Yazoo would also present me with the rare tidbit of food, sliding it between my teeth with a pale finger and watching as I chewed enthusiastically. Every couple days he would bring an extra container filled with water which he would splash across my face and chest.

That was our routine; I was continuously broken by Kadaj's brutality, and then carefully mended by Yazoo's kindness.

The cycle did not break, not until that day. The beginning.

On that fateful day, I was in agony, for the ever-innovative Kadaj had decided to try something different. Instead of using his fists and booted feet to pound answers out of me, the Remnant leader had drawn his sword. At the first sight of the twin blades, I had flinched, thinking that my time had come at last. I closed my eyes in preparation to feel the cold metal puncture my flesh before I could melt into the Lifestream and find peace at last. A death-dealing blow never came, as I has expected. However, when I felt a sting against my shoulder I opened my eyes to see the very tip of Kadaj's blade piercing my skin. A small bead of my blood tainted the smooth metallic edge.

He had demanded to know where Jenova's head was hidden as he always does, and in likewise regularity, I did not say a word. In frustration, Kadaj drew back his arm and slashed at my chest. I felt my heart stop as the cold blade connected with my flesh, shredding my skin like paper. I did not make a sound, no I have been trained, like all Turks to conceal my pain, and so I merely winced as blood began to seep from the stinging wound. Kadaj left then, abandoning me to bleed out on the freezing floor, I suppose.

So I waited patiently in the dingy cell, for death to collect me in its soothing embrace. I waited for a long time, watching in morbid fascination as my blood soaked through the thin white cloth of my shirt and began to steadily drip onto the concrete. I lingered, but death never came for me. Instead, after an hour or so of observing my life slip away from me, the cell door opened with an aggravated creak.

Soft footsteps paced across the floor quickly before a dark form fell to my side. Cold fingers grasped my hair, pulling me upwards until my face was revealed. I blinked languidly at Yazoo, noticing distantly that his expression was not quite as emotionless as it usually was. There was a hint of something else in his gaze…it could have almost been fear. But what was he afraid of? The hands left my face, and moved downwards. I could feel clumsy fingers wrestling with the buttons of my shirt. Yazoo was never clumsy; he had always been steadfast and sure in all his actions. So why did it feel like his hands were shaking against my blood-slicked flesh?

Feather-light fingertips brushed across my skin, and I found myself drifting away on a stream of warmth. Strange, because my cell had never been anything but ice-cold.

I think I fell asleep, although I do not remember ever closing my eyes entirely, nor do I remember the time I spent dozing, I must not have dreamed again. I do not recall any of these things, but I do remember the harsh hand that awakened me.

Yazoo had never struck me before, and so I was astonished when I was drawn back to consciousness by the sharp sting on my cheek. When I opened my eyes all the way, I saw that his flat palm was drawn back again in preparation for another swing. Seeing that my eyes were open, however, he let his hand slowly fall, until it rested harmlessly atop his thigh.

I blinked again, realizing that the pain in my chest had been replaced by a dull throbbing, and I could no longer feel the wetness of blood against my skin. I looked down curiously and saw to my amazement that my shirt had been removed and used to dress the jagged wound.

I glanced up at Yazoo through a matted fringe of red, my mouth hanging open slightly. He was my enemy, and I in turn was his. Why show me such sympathy?

When I had finally regained the ability to speak, I whispered softly to him, my head bowed forward. "I am grateful for everything you have done, but if your brother finds out he will be angry….erm well angrier than usual."

Yazoo gazed at me wordlessly.

I sighed. "Really, yo. I'm one of the expendables. My life doesn't matter all that much, you shouldn't worry yourself over someone like me."

Yazoo did not speak. In fact, he showed no evidence that he had listened to my words at all. He was busy reaching beneath his leather, and as I watched, he removed from the folds a canteen of sloshing liquid.

He acted as if nothing had happened, as if he had not just saved my worthless life and put himself in danger by doing so.

I felt an ache within my chest…almost disappointment. I had expected something different, but Yazoo looked as calm as ever when he approached me, carrying out our normal routine.

He knelt beside me, his magnificent eyes holding mine. I waited for the bottle of water to be pushed against my lips, and after a moment of gazing into my eyes, Yazoo did so.

I drank, sating my thirst for the time being with each desperate swallow. After the bottle had been emptied, I licked the rim, collecting the last few droplets mixed with the metallic taste of the container.

Yazoo pulled the canteen away, but instead of tucking it back beneath his leather as was custom, he dropped it. The low metal clanking as the bottle bounced against the concrete was the mark of a change. It echoes deafeningly within my memory, calling me back to the very place we began. For after that, everything was different, and the routine that had become so solid, broke away in tiny fragments, shattering before my eyes.

I used to wonder why he came day by day if it was only to sit and watch me sleep.

I once questioned his motives, and why he would save my wretched life.

I used to doubt his kindness to an enemy.

But all my questions were answered the moment that bottle slipped from his gloved hand. His fingers now free of burden, tangled in my hair, and he pressed his lips gently to mine. My first instinct was to push him away in horror, but under the expertise of his tongue, I found my shock gradually fading. I could feel the touch of his unending kindness as I parted my lips and invited him to invade me thoroughly. We moved in perfect synchronicity, the familiar tang of blood fading away to a faint memory of painful reality. Yazoo was patient and he was calm, and I melted into him without a doubt in mind.

* * *

><p>Words are not needed here, not in this empty cell. Where two hearts beat, gentle fingers touch, and tender lips meet. I am chained here to this wall and you to me. On the thin line I walk between life and death, this gentle kindness, this warm sympathy is my salvation.<p>

Who knows how much longer we will be here? So, accompanied by the unforgettable sound of metal clattering against the base of my concrete prison, let's make a memory.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>I may some day continue this when I have a heck of a lot more time, but for now it will remain a short little one-shot. Reviews are greatly appreciated, and thank you for reading!


End file.
